Bakugou and the Angel of Music
by doopdoop2
Summary: As if being an opera singer isn't stressful enough, Bakugou's life is turned upside down when someone begins talking to him from behind his dressing room mirror. That raises a few questions: why, precisely, is there a man behind Bakugou's mirror? What does that man want with him? And, most importantly, how can Bakugou get him to go away?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **This story was written as part of the tdbk 2019 Reverse Big Bang challenge. It is a Phantom of the Opera AU, but familiarity with PotO is not necessary to enjoy the story.

Please find my partner's work, which inspired this story, on insta: stannumart (unfortunately I can't link on FFN)

* * *

Bakugou had a problem.

Well, to say he had _a _problem was a severe understatement. He had a bunch of them. But the strangest, and at the moment most pressing, was the man that spoke to him sometimes from behind his mirror.

"I am the Angel of Music," the man said.

"Does the angel of music have a fucking _name? _"

A pause. "It is not for you to know at this time."

They'd done this particular routine two times already. The mirror-man had introduced himself as some sort of secret admirer, had given Bakugou a handful of compliments, and had twice offered his services as singing coach. Twice Bakugou had given a firm "fuck no", and the voice had gone quiet after each rejection.

So Bakugou had a pretty good guess what the voice wanted now, their third time speaking. "I already told you no!" Bakugou said, before his unwanted guest even had a chance to ask the question. "I don't want any lessons. Stop asking me."

"You could be truly great," the voice said. "You could be a star."

The man's voice was monotone, barely loud enough to be heard. Bakugou wondered what sort of a person the voice belonged to, if the speaker was old or young, large or small. It was honestly impossible to tell. "You always say that," Bakugou said. "You need a new argument to convince me."

"I truly believe in your talents."

"Okay. That's nice, I guess." Unsure where to look, but unnerved by the idea that the man could see him through his mirror, Bakugou looked away. "If you have nothing new to say, go away."

"I _do _have something new to say. I have an offer for you."

Bakugou rolled his eyes.

"Would you like to hear my offer?"

"I know you won't go away until you tell me, so go for it, I guess."

"Alright. My offer is: if you let me give you singing lessons, I can guarantee you will be getting leading roles within the year."

Bakugou paused. When he realized that was the offer in its entirety, he threw his head back and laughed. "Now I _know _you're out of your mind. Do you understand that I've barely been here six months? There's about a dozen men in line for those roles ahead of me. Not to mention Enji's mostly the reason people even come to see the opera in the first place. Why would I ever get a leading role when he's here?"

"Enji will be taken care of," the voice said, steely-cold and very serious. "Do not worry about the 'how'. If you follow my instructions-"

"You never said anything about following instructions. You're modifying your agreement."

A beat. "Perhaps I wasn't done laying out the terms of the offer."

"Bullshit! I even waited to make sure you were!"

"I wasn't," the voice insisted. "Here's the full offer: if you let me give you singing lessons, and also do as I say, I'll guarantee you a leading role within a year."

"What does it mean to do as you say? What kind of commands are you going to be giving me? That's way, way too vague for anyone to agree to."

Bakugou heard the voice sigh. "I suppose you have a point. Let me reconsider this. Farewell."

"Uh, is that it? Are you just going now?" No answer. "Hello?"

But it seemed the voice's owner had well and truly disappeared. Bakugou stared blankly at his own reflection, puzzled and annoyed in equal measure.

* * *

"You did a very good job in rehearsal," the mirror-man said, as flat as ever.

A jolt going through Bakugou's entire body. It was the next day, and he'd been foolish enough to think he'd get a little more than twenty-four hours' peace. "Jesus Christ," he said, "could you warn me next time? Or maybe don't come back at all."

"I love watching you in rehearsals," the voice said, apparently unheeding. "But it makes me sad to see you playing such a small role. You don't even have any solos."

"Okay," Bakugou said, grimacing. "That's - that's - I don't know what to say. Thanks?"

"You're charming, Bakugou." The flatness of the man's voice made everything he said sound sarcastic, but it was impossible to tell whether it actually was. Bakugou didn't like that at all; he was never quite sure if he was being praised or mocked. "I've thought over the terms of my agreement. May I tell you now?"

"Go ahead, I guess," Bakugou said, with a deep, weary sigh.

"Alright. My agreement is this: if you let me give you singing lessons and memorize all of Enji's parts, I can guarantee you will get a leading role within the year."

Bakugou crossed his arms, frowning at the mirror. "Uh-huh. So how's this going to work, exactly? Are you going to kill Enji and then I'll be the only one who can step in to take his place?"

There was a pause. "Not kill," the voice said, sounding very small.

"I'm pretty sure he has an understudy. In fact I _know _he does - is something going to happen to him too?"

"I laid out the terms," the voice said. "It is your decision to accept or reject my offer."

"If I reject it, are you going to leave me alone?"

Silence.

"Fucking hell," Bakugou said, walking over to the mirror. It looked like it was connected firmly to the wall, but obviously there was something behind it, right? He ran his fingers along the edge of it, looking for a seam. When he found none, he pulled. Still nothing.

"Do you accept my offer?" the voice said, as flat as ever.

"How do you get behind my mirror?"

"There are a lot of tunnels under the opera house," the voice said, almost casually. "It's a very old building, you know. There are hidden passageways all over, and I know them all."

The mirror-man's lack of urgency made Bakugou think it was probably futile trying to get into the mirror this way. He stepped back, his hands dropping to his sides. "But why my _mirror? _Whoever built this tunnel was a pervert."

"I don't know why it connects to a mirror," the voice said. "I didn't design it. It's much older than I am."

"So there are a lot of tunnels like this in the building?"

"Yes, many."

"Do you hang around other people's dressing rooms, too?"

"Occasionally, but I visit yours the most." The man sounded almost _happy, _the first emotion he'd displayed openly so far. It gave Bakugou the creeps. "I don't like anyone as much as I like you."

"We've talked, what, four times?"

"I've been watching you for much longer," he said, and, oh, Bakugou did not like _that _one bit.

"What the fuck is your _problem? _"

"It took me a long time to work up the courage to talk to you. You're quite an intimidating person, you know."

"Not intimidating enough to stop you from _spying _on me, you little creep!" Bakugou knew people outside his dressing room could probably hear him screaming, but he was too angry to care. "If I ever get my hands on you-"

Then he was struck with an idea. He glanced around the room, his eyes settling on a large lamp that stood in the corner. He picked it up, holding it like a weapon, and prepared to swing. If there was no other way to get into the tunnel, he'd _smash _his way in and wring this guy's neck.

"Stop!" the voice said. Bakugou felt a thrill of satisfaction; the man was _afraid._

"Give me one good reason not to smash this mirror and then your head."

"They'll make you cover the cost of the mirror. And you'll probably get fired."

"They _better not _make me pay for it. I don't think they will, not when I show everyone that some weirdo's been spying on me. They'll probably_thank _me, for revealing that tunnel."

"Everyone knows about the tunnels," the voice said. "They won't be surprised, I guarantee it."

After a long, long moment of thinking it over, Bakugou sighed and set the lamp heavily back down. He felt frustrated almost to the point of tears. He knew the voice was probably right, that he'd have to pay for the mirror out of pocket - and a full-length mirror like that was far, far more than he could afford. Particularly if the voice was also right about him losing his job.

"Bakugou," the voice said, "please don't be frightened of me."

"I'm not _frightened! _" he yelled. "I'm _pissed the fuck off!"_

"Don't be mad, either. What will make you stop being angry at me? I don't want you to be angry at me. I don't want to see you upset."

"You need to stop spying on me."

There was a long pause - Bakugou wondered for a moment if the mirror-man had taken off entirely - but finally the voice spoke again. "I will always announce when I am here. I will never come without notifying you. I will never watch you without your knowledge again."

For what felt like the trillionth time that day, Bakugou sighed. "You won't just promise not to come back?"

"I can't do that," the voice said, now back to its default flat tone. "You're very precious to me."

The whole situation was way too weird for Bakugou. He could only laugh, so he did. He laughed until there were tears at the corners of his eyes, until he couldn't catch his breath. "Why did I get stuck with the stalker?" he said, half-delirious. "Why did it have to be me?"

The mirror-man said nothing. Bakugou calmed down after a minute, wiping his eyes. "Fine. Fine. That's fine. I guess for now you can come and watch me if you need to watch me, or whatever, as long as you tell me when you're here."

"Thank you, Bakugou. ...Have you given my offer any consideration?"

"Can you fucking _leave?"_

"Very well. Have a good evening. Please give it some thought."

Bakugou counted sixty seconds, then said, "Hello?"

There was no response. Finally, _finally, _he was alone at last.

* * *

Bakugou brought a sheet from his room and draped it over the mirror. He did not trust the mirror-man to keep his word. The type of person that would spy through a mirror to begin with was probably not the type who'd stop when you asked him. Bakugou didn't want to think too hard about that creep watching him in secret before they'd even spoken - who knew how long _that _had gone on.

At rehearsal the next day, Bakugou decided to tell Kirishima about the mirror-man. Kirishima was a fellow opera singer, a boy about his age who'd started shortly after Bakugou; he was the closest thing to a friend Bakugou had. And he was, as far as Bakugou could tell, pretty open-minded. This was important; Bakugou needed to confide in someone who wouldn't immediately just laugh his concerns away.

But it was difficult to bring up. It took him half the rehearsal just to figure out the best way to phrase it. "Kirishima, I have something to tell you," Bakugou began.

"Yeah? What's up?"

"Have you heard about there being tunnels under the opera house?"

"Tunnels?" Kirishima frowned. "I haven't heard anything like that, but it's such a huge, old building, I guess it makes sense. That's kind of cool!"

"No," Bakugou said, "it's not cool. I think there's a tunnel behind the mirror in my dressing room."

"Where does it lead?"

"I said I _think _there is. I don't know. I haven't gotten in. I don't know how without breaking the mirror."

"Then why do you think-"

"Because someone's back there," Bakugou said. "Talking to me. A man." He took a deep breath. "He talks to me through the mirror, and he says he gets around the opera house using secret tunnels."

"Who is it?"

"I don't know."

"Well, what's he look like?"

"I don't _know!" _Bakugou said, exasperated. He was glad Kirishima wasn't reacting with skepticism, but found himself wishing he'd catch on just a little faster. "I haven't seen him! I just hear his voice. But he can see me through the mirror."

"Oh, dude, that's messed up," Kirishima said, and Bakugou felt a surge of gratefulness - at least until Kirishima added, "But how do you know it's a man? I've heard people talk about a ghost that lives in the opera house. Maybe there isn't a tunnel at all, maybe a ghost is haunting your room!"

"He _said _he uses the tunnels," Bakugou said. "He _told _me! He never said he was a ghost. I think he'd mention it, if he were."

"But there _is _a ghost, right? People keep talking about that. Maybe the ghost uses the tunnels?"

"He's not a ghost!"

"But how do you _know, _man?" Kirishima said. "You haven't even seen him!"

Bakugou felt a headache forming at his temples. "Whatever he is, I don't appreciate him watching me in my dressing room, but he won't leave. I don't know how to get him to leave."

"If it's a ghost, you could try an exorcism. Or maybe trying to get him to go to the other side. See if there's something he's left unfulfilled in this life. If it's a man…" Kirishima looked thoughtful. "Maybe the same thing? Ask him what he wants. Why's he bugging you in particular?"

Bakugou hated to admit it, but maybe the point Kirishima was making wasn't half bad. If he could find out what the mirror-man's eventual goal was, he could help it happen more quickly, so the creep could move on to the next victim. "I don't know why he's bugging me, but he keeps saying I have 'potential' and that he could make me a 'star'... he wants to give me singing lessons really bad."

"That's…" Kirishima wrinkled his nose. "Kinda weird."

"Fucking _tell _me about it!"

"Do you think he's a good singer? Like, _could _he give you lessons?"

"Does that matter? I'd rather not get lessons from my _mirror, _thanks!"

"I mean, I think it matters," Kirishima said. "If he's a good teacher, I'd probably take him up on it, you know? It's not like you and I are getting any private lessons as it is - they probably wouldn't even notice if we skipped rehearsal. Getting free lessons sounds like a dream."

"Free lessons from a creep who hides in the walls?"

"Free lessons are free lessons."

Bakugou didn't even mention the mirror-man's guarantee that he'd get a leading role. It was a pipe dream too strange to even bother bringing up - not to mention Kirishima, gullible as he was, would probably believe it. "I want to bring you to my dressing room so you can hear him, too," Bakugou said. "Then you can tell me if you think it's a ghost or a man."

"Cool! Yeah, sure!" Kirishima shivered. "But that's kind of freaky. I've never talked to a ghost before. What would I say?"

"Just talk to him like anyone else, I guess," Bakugou said. "That's how I do it." _He __**isn't **__a ghost, _he added in his head, but didn't say aloud - he knew it was pointless.

When they got back to the dressing room after rehearsal, it was obvious to Bakugou that someone else had been there in the interim. The sheet he'd hung over his mirror had been taken off, folded neatly and set on a chair. Bakugou stopped so suddenly in the doorway that Kirishima ran into him.

"I hung that sheet over the mirror," Bakugou said, his heart racing. "I hung it up last night, it was still there before rehearsal and now it's gone. My room was locked. It _had _to be him."

"The ghost!"

"It's - he's not a ghost!" Bakugou strode over to the mirror, staring into his own wild-eyed reflection. "Look, I know you're there, you fucker! Say something! Tell Kirishima you're not a ghost!"

It was silent. Of _course _it was, Bakugou thought. Of course, the one time he _didn't _want the mirror-man to be quiet was the one time he did. Bakugou was sorely tempted for the second time in as many days to smash his mirror clean through.

"It's okay," Kirishima said, patting his back. "I believe you, dude. He's probably just not here right now."

"Or he wants to make me look like an idiot!"

"If you're there," Kirishima said loudly, "if you can hear me, please know I mean you no harm. I come here out of curiosity alone. Please reveal yourself to me."

"He's not gonna," Bakugou said. "He's not gonna. I just know it."

They held their breath, waiting, but it was silent.

"Guess he's just feeling shy," Kirishima said. "Well, I'm gonna head back to my own dressing room, I'm beat. We can try again another day."

Bakugou waited until Kirishima had left the room before erupting. "Fuck you!" he said, slamming the side of his fist against the mirror - not hard enough to break it, but hard enough to make a satisfying _thunk. _"You just want to make me look like an idiot, don't you? Well, fuck you and fuck your lessons! I never want to hear your voice again!"

Silence.

In fact, the silence was so absolute, and lasted for so long, that Bakugou began to think maybe the mirror-man really wasn't there this time. Bakugou did not get a response before he left, and was deeply grateful that there were no mirrors in his bedroom. He shared his sleeping quarters with a handful of other young opera singers, and maybe the mirror-man could sneak behind a wall and listen, but that was the worst he could do there. (Or so, at least, Bakugou hoped.)

* * *

The mirror-man's conspicuous absence put Bakugou in a bad mood for the rest of the day and the entirety of the following morning. He very nearly skipped rehearsal, Kirishima's words about their presence not being missed ringing in his ears. But if he did skip, he wasn't sure where he'd be able to hide out besides his dressing room, and spending any extra time there certainly wasn't a welcome prospect.

After rehearsal, not long after Bakugou entered his dressing room and shut the door behind him, he heard a timid "Hello".

"Was wondering when you would come back, you coward," Bakugou hissed, spinning to face the mirror. "Were you laughing at me yesterday? You made me look like an idiot in front of Kirishima."

"I wasn't ready to reveal myself to your friend," the voice said, sounding almost whiny. "It took me long enough to work up the courage to speak to_you. _I'm not ready to talk to a second person yet." The longer they spoke, the more Bakugou could pick up fluctuations in his mood and tone. The mirror-man's voice was not nearly as monotone as it had seemed at first. Bakugou wasn't sure he liked the idea of getting to know him that well.

"You could've at least said 'hi' or something - he probably thinks I'm crazy now. And," Bakugou added, remembering, "you came in here, didn't you? You actually came into my room. Have you done that before?"

"I had to move that sheet," the voice said. "With it there, I couldn't see you."

"Yeah, that's kind of the point!"

"I like seeing you, though."

"This is my _dressing room!" _Bakugou shouted. "What don't you get about that? I don't want you to watch me change!"

There was a knock on his door.

Bakugou froze for a moment, startled, before turning to answer it. In the doorway stood Aizawa, one of the directors, looking as tired and worn-down as ever. "Bakugou," he said, sighing, "we've had noise complaints." He glanced around the obviously-empty room. "Why are you shouting?"

Bakugou swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. "Just practicing lines."

Aizawa gave him a long, searching look; he must have known Bakugou had no lines, but didn't ask any more questions. "Please keep it down in the future," was all he said as he stepped away and headed out into the hallway. When he was out of sight, Bakugou shut the door and breathed a sigh of relief.

"Why did you cover for me?" the mirror-man asked. "Why didn't you tell him you were talking to me?"

"What would I have said?" Bakugou was mindful of his volume now - he knew Aizawa could be terrifying when angry, and he didn't want to give him a reason to come back. "I know you would've stayed quiet again and made me look even crazier than yesterday. 'Hm, yes, Aizawa, I'm yelling at the asshole who lives in my mirror and really, really wants to give me singing lessons for some reason.'"

"Right! I almost forgot. Have you made a decision about my proposal?"

"You know," Bakugou said, "I want to know what's in it for you."

"What?"

"What exactly are you gaining from this? Why do you care so much about making me a star?"

The mirror-man was quiet a long time. Bakugou counted to fifteen in his head. When he finally spoke, he sounded almost solemn. "I do see a great potential in you. No other amateurs have your level of raw talent, and I believe you could be a great star."

"I _will _be."

"Yes, but you will be more quickly if you accept my assistance." The mirror-man paused. "Another reason... I hate Enji. I don't think he deserves to be the lead, and I want him to lose his starring roles. If it's to you, all the better."

Bakugou hadn't really known what the voice would say, but he certainly hadn't expected _that. _"Why?"

"That is irrelevant. I have my reasons, which don't affect you at this moment. Does that answer your question?"

"It answers that _one _question, I guess," Bakugou said, "but I have about a billion more."

"I don't mind. Go ahead and ask them. I enjoy talking to you like this."

Bakugou realized he hadn't changed out of his costume after the rehearsal. The sweat had already dried on his skin, and, to judge from the pervading silence from outside the room, all of the other performers had already left their dressing rooms for dinner. "Look," Bakugou said, "I want to ask you those questions, but for now I need you to leave."

"Why?"

"I want to change, so I can go to dinner."

He heard what might have been a noise of frustration from the other side of the mirror. "We've barely talked at all today."

"I've been at rehearsal all day," Bakugou said. "I'm tired and really fucking hungry, and if I don't hurry, all the food is going to be gone. Then I'll be_really _pissed."

"Okay, okay." A pause. "But after dinner, could you maybe... come back?"

Bakugou felt torn. A large part of his brain - the logical part, obviously - told him not to spend any more time with the mirror-man than he absolutely had to.

Yet there was another part of him that wanted to preen at the man's flattering words, that appreciated being the sole focus. Kirishima had been right when he said this kind of one-on-one attention was rare; Bakugou could think of no other way to receive free singing lessons. Even if he didn't get a leading role, that kind of personal direction, if the mirror-man was the real deal, could be a valuable asset.

So, although he was kicking himself for ignoring all of the blazing red flags, Bakugou said, "Yeah, okay. After I eat I'll come back. But for now, look away. I don't want you to watching-"

"I'll be waiting!" the voice said, sounding distant - as if the speaker was already walking (or running) away.

Bakugou paused. "Hello?"

No answer.

"What the fuck," he said, and started changing out of his costume at last.


	2. Chapter 2

True to his word, Bakugou returned to his dressing rooms after he ate dinner. There was no performance that night, and the entire wing was eerily empty; most of the light came from the single candle he brought with him. He didn't believe the stupid ghost stories that had frightened Kirishima so much - and that was a good thing, too, because if he had, he probably wouldn't have gotten up the courage to make the trip at all.

"Bakugou! You came!" the voice said, as soon as he entered his dressing room. The mirror-man's voice was still as soft as ever, but genuinely affectionate: he was clearly excited to see him.

Bakugou sat down cross-legged on the floor, setting his candle nearby. "Yeah, yeah. ...Wait."

"What is it?"

Bakugou's mirror was faintly glowing. No - his mirror had become a window, and, for the first time, he could see the other side.

_He could see the mirror-man._

The man was holding a candle, so he was unevenly lit - but Bakugou was pretty damn sure his hair (or wig?) was half white, half red. And he had a mask covering half of his face, but not the top or bottom - it was covering only his left side, with his right still bare, letting Bakugou clearly see his face.

Bakugou was certain he'd never seen this person before. From what he could tell, the man looked young - as young as Bakugou himself, or maybe younger - and he was strikingly beautiful. The visible half of him, at least.

From the casual way he was sitting on the ground with the candle beside him - mimicking Bakugou's position - it was clear the mirror-man didn't know he could be seen.

Bakugou intended to keep it that way.

"Nothing," Bakugou said, as if nothing was different. "Just wanted to get comfortable. The floor's harder than I thought. And cold."

"I appreciate you coming here to meet with me," the man said. Bakugou tried not to look directly at his face, knowing that could give him away; he kept his gaze focused downwards, sneaking glances when he dared.

"Yeah, whatever." Bakugou tried his hardest to feign nonchalance even though he was itching with curiosity. So the person in the mirror was not an opera singer or instructor, at least not one Bakugou recognized. He was dressed like he was in costume, in a black tuxedo. His hair was neatly combed and looked clean, even though he apparently lived like a rat in the tunnels, harassing Bakugou at all hours. _What the fuck?_

"Have you given my offer any more consideration?" The man could obviously still see Bakugou, because he was watching him intently. "I know I have mentioned it many times, probably to the point of annoying you. However, I am anxious to hear your reply."

"Tell me how it would work," Bakugou said. "Would the lessons take place here in my dressing room?"

"Yes. That was my plan."

"Wouldn't people overhear?"

"When it's empty like this, there truly is no one around," the mirror-man said. "When it's crowded, few people will notice you, and those who do will simply assume you're practicing alone."

"Aizawa told me to shut it earlier today, did you forget that already?"

"You were _yelling," _the man said. "Not singing. Even if it's loud enough to be heard, singing will hardly be out of the ordinary. Plenty of people practice in their dressing rooms, trust me."

"Where do you sleep?"

The man glanced over his shoulder before answering. "There are hidden rooms, in addition to the tunnels."

"So why not in there?" Bakugou asked. "It would be more private, and wouldn't make me look like a fool if someone walks in."

The man hesitated a long time. "I am not comfortable with the idea of you seeing me," he said at last.

"Why not?"

"I am… deformed," the man said. He raised a hand to touch the edge of his mask.

_Yeah, and you're wearing a mask to hide it. What's the big deal? _"Unless you look like a gargoyle, I'm pretty sure I could get over most deformed faces. I work with Enji's ugly mug, don't I?"

He thought he could bond with the mirror-man over a shared dislike of Enji, but apparently that was the wrong thing to say, because the man actually _winced. _"Enji isn't deformed," he said, hand still resting on his mask. "You may dislike his appearance, but a mere ugly face isn't what I'm referring to."

"So you plan to give me lessons, but never show me your face or even tell me your name? I don't see how I can trust you, even if you do promise a lot. What are your credentials? What if you secretly want me to fail and teach me badly on purpose?"

He looked so stupidly sad at that accusation that Bakugou almost laughed and gave himself away. "I would never do that," the mirror-man said. "But I understand it must be hard for you to trust me. I haven't given you any good reason to do so."

The man looked like he was still thinking, so Bakugou waited. And waited.

"My name is Shouto," the mirror-man said at last.

Bakugou grinned. "Finally!" Even if it was a pseudonym - and maybe it was - it was still something by which to refer to the man. "No fucking way I was gonna call you the Angel of Music."

"That was sort of a joke. I didn't actually expect you to."

"But is your name all I'm getting? No more information, nothing?"

"I can prove to you I'm a good singer, at least," Shouto said. He got to his feet - Bakugou almost gave himself away by glancing upwards, but restrained himself at the last minute - and began to sing.

He had a good voice. A trained opera singer's voice, Bakugou realized. The man was talented. When he finished, he sat back down and watched Bakugou's face expectantly.

"Are you an opera singer?" Bakugou asked, trying not to look too hard at Shouto's face.

"Oh, no, of course not."

"Why the fuck not? Dunno if you'd get any leading roles, but you're better than some of the clowns in the company."

"I told you already. I'm badly deformed. There's no way they'd put me on a stage. But I - I appreciate that. Coming from you, it means a lot."

Bakugou wasn't sure why this guy took everything he said so damn seriously. It was really fucking weird, the way his eyes were fixed so firmly on Bakugou's face, how whether he'd smile or frown hinged so firmly on Bakugou's words. Weird, but flattering, too. "Look," Bakugou said, "I guess, since you don't have a half-bad voice, I wouldn't mind you giving me a few lessons. Maybe there's a thing or two you could teach me."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I mean, why the fuck not. Couldn't hurt."

"Excellent!" Shouto sprang to his feet again. "We can begin tomorrow evening. Eat directly after rehearsal and come back here - I'll be waiting."

"Okay, whatever."

"I'm looking forward to it!"

And with that, Shouto turned around and ran off. Bakugou lingered for a moment, just staring through the mirror-window. It was harder to see through it without Shouto's candle there, but it was still clearly not just a mirror. It made Bakugou feel better to know he _wasn't _crazy, there _was _a tunnel there after all - and that he could now say with certainty that Shouto was a man, not a ghost.

* * *

Bakugou went back and forth about whether to tell Kirishima about the recent developments. Eventually he decided to go ahead with it. Shouto hadn't explicitly said _not _to, after all - not to mention that learning the mirror-man's name didn't mean Bakugou instantly trusted him. It might be good to have someone know where to look if he went missing.

"You know that guy who talks to me through my mirror?" Bakugou began, when they had a break during the next day's rehearsal.

"Yeah - what about him?"

"I decided to take him up on his offer of lessons. I figured, why not, right?"

"Oh, neat!" Kirishima gave him a thumbs up. "Tell me how it goes, dude!"

"It'll probably be shitty. Guy's a fucking weirdo. If I go missing sometime, check behind my mirror, because he's probably abducted me and taken me back into his lair."

"Uh, dude," Kirishima said. His eyes were wide with concern. "I can't tell if you're joking or not, but if you really think he's gonna do something like that, you should probably steer clear of this guy."

Bakugou sighed. "I really have no idea. So far he's been perfectly nice, except for the whole part where he _spies on me, _you know? I can't read this guy at all! Why's he so fucking _weird? _He keeps going on and on about my 'natural talent,' but won't tell me anything about himself!"

"You want me to come with you, just in case he tries something? I'm pretty strong, and I bet you and I together could take him, easy!"

"He said he won't say anything with you there. He said he's too shy. But..." Bakugou paused, thinking. He didn't actually feel _that _frightened about being alone with Shouto - if he wanted to do something to Bakugou, he could have done it the night before, after all - but it would be nice to have Kirishima overhear. Kirishima was being good-natured about it, and _said _he believed Bakugou, but Bakugou still felt like he'd been made a fool of. He wanted to prove that he wasn't crazy, even if there was no real need to. "Maybe you could stand outside the door and listen in, just in case."

"Oh, sure!" Kirishima said. "I'd be glad to!"

"He said I should go eat dinner after rehearsal, then come back to my dressing room."

"Okay, cool! It's really no problem," Kirishima said. "I'd be glad to help you out! And maybe I can learn a thing or two from those lessons, besides!"

"Don't let him know you're there if you can help it," Bakugou reminded him.

"Right, right, of course!"

Bakugou still felt a little nervous as he settled on the floor inside his dressing room. Shouto was already there, candle in his hand. "Stand up," he ordered Bakugou. "This is a lesson. You need to be standing, it will be easier."

"Bossy," Bakugou grumbled, but did as he said.

"Thank you," Shouto said. "Now, let's begin with some breathing exercises."

Shouto was often unsure of himself, pausing now and then as if to think about what to do next, but he obviously did know what he was talking about. Bakugou suspected he had received years of lessons, but probably had never taught anyone else before, himself.

So, overall, it went… fine. Good, even. Certainly better than Bakugou had been expecting. He ended the lesson glad he'd agreed. Tired, of course - his voice had gotten a lot of use that day - but in an undeniably good mood. He was nearly smiling as Shouto wished him goodnight.

"Yo, you sounded so good!" Kirishima said, as soon as they were down the hall and out of earshot, in case Shouto hadn't quite left yet.

"Could you hear him?"

"Oh yeah! I did hear him a little. He's pretty quiet but I heard when he demonstrated stuff for you." Kirishima glanced over at him. "You know I did believe you, right? Like if this was just to prove something to me-"

"Of course not, dumbass!"

"Okay, okay." Kirishima elbowed him in the ribs, and Bakugou elbowed back, harder. "Anyway, I know what he's saying about your natural talent, 'cause you're really good."

"Damn right I am," Bakugou said, his heart swelling a little with pride. He had to be careful - between Shouto and Kirishima, he was in danger of getting an enormous ego. Too much more of this and he'd be barging up to Enji and challenging him for the starring roles.

* * *

The next morning, Bakugou and the other boys in his room were all just getting up when there was a knock at the door. One of them opened it, confused. It was Aizawa.

"I need to speak to Bakugou."

The others in his room stared at Bakugou as he left. Once he was outside, he thought he heard them laughing through the closed door. _Well, let them think what they want, _Bakugou thought. _Who gives a fuck._

"Bakugou," Aizawa said, sounding as disinterested as ever, "you aren't in trouble, but I have something I need to tell you about."

"Huh?"

"There may be a fugitive loose inside the opera house. Have you seen or heard anyone who isn't supposed to be here? Anyone you don't know?"

"A fugitive? Is he a criminal?"

"No," Aizawa said. "I don't think so."

"You don't _think-"_

"More of a runaway. Anyways, have you encountered a person like that recently?"

"There's a shit-ton of people in the opera house at any given time," Bakugou said, crossing his arms. "How am I supposed to know who belongs and who doesn't? If we get a new janitor, should I report him to you for being a trespasser?"

"Bakugou," Aizawa said, sighing, "I meant if you see anyone who _obviously does not belong. _Someone who appears to be sneaking in or trying to avoid detection."

Bakugou shrugged. "Don't think I've seen anyone like that lately."

Aizawa looked at him through narrowed eyes. "Have you _heard _anyone like that lately?"

"What the fuck does _that _mean?"

"Please answer the question. Have you?"

"No? I don't think so?"

"As I said, you aren't in trouble currently," Aizawa said. "But if you do encounter such a person and don't inform me, you may be. ...That's all. You can go back now."

Bakugou rolled his eyes, trying to act natural - but he felt clammy with fear, his heart racing.

_He knows. He _has _to know. There's no other explanation._

_And why did I cover for Shouto, anyways?_

Bakugou ran a hand through his hair. Fuck, why _had _he done that? Hadn't he been wishing someone would believe him, wishing he could tell someone about the creep spying on him? And now he finally had the opportunity, so why…?

He thought of the faint smile that appeared on Shouto's face sometimes - of the happy tone in his voice Bakugou had only recently become aware of. He thought of how well the vocal lesson had gone the night before. He winced.

It was fucked up that Bakugou might actually find this weirdo attractive or endearing in any way, but that was the only explanation he could think of. He was developing a soft spot for Shouto. A week ago he would have certainly given Shouto up without remorse, but now he wanted to wait, to learn his side of the story. Bakugou was getting soft.

Rehearsal went normally, but he felt Aizawa's eyes on him the whole time. Bakugou wondered how much his teacher knew - whether he was already in trouble despite what Aizawa had said. He felt nervousness settle in his stomach, heavy and cold.

But he decided to go back again that night anyways. He didn't know precisely why, but he had enjoyed it the night before. As long as he snuck out unseen, Bakugou didn't think there was any harm in it.

At dinner he sat next to Kirishima. "You don't need to come with me today," Bakugou told him. "It went smoothly enough last night, I really don't think this guy's a threat."

"Okay, have fun!"

He double and triple checked that no one was following him on his way to his dressing room. He heaved a sigh of relief as he walked in, locking the door behind him. Shouto was already there, visible once more through the glass.

"You look troubled," Shouto said, face almost pressed to the edge of the glass. "Did something happen?"

"Nah. I mean, kind of…" Bakugou sighed. "Are you some kind of fugitive?"

Shouto held very still. "What do you mean?"

"They're looking for you, aren't they? They know you're here."

"Who is exactly is 'they'?" Shouto asked, frowning. "Did someone ask you about me?"

"Aizawa. Maybe he put two and two together after he heard me shouting alone in my dressing room, maybe not. He asked me if I'd seen _or heard _anyone who didn't belong, and I'm guessing he meant you."

"I've committed no crimes," Shouto said. "I don't consider myself a fugitive."

"Runaway?"

"That's more accurate. I'm hiding from someone."

"Aizawa?"

"No, but Aizawa is on the side of the person I'm evading. Thank you very much for not giving me away."

"Yeah, yeah." Bakugou said. "Just as long as I don't-"

"Bakugou - _shh _\- be quiet."

He was about to ask why when he heard it: footsteps. Then voices. "This one?"

"Yeah." That was Aizawa's voice. The door handle jiggled. "It's locked."

"You have the key?"

"Somewhere-"

"Bakugou. Bakugou." Shouto's voice was a harsh whisper, frantic with fear. His hands were scrabbling along the side of the mirror, until at last it clicked and swung open. "Bakugou, _get in now."_

Aizawa from outside: "Ah, here it is."

Bakugou leapt in. The mirror swung shut noiselessly behind him, and Shouto locked it from the inside. "Come on," he said, grabbing Bakugou's hand. "Hurry, we have to go quickly."

They ran into the tunnel. From far away, as if in a dream, Bakugou heard his dressing room door swing open. He heard voices, too, but couldn't make out what they were saying. They kept moving, and soon the voices faded away entirely.

Shouto was taking him… somewhere. He seemed to know the way, but it was all Bakugou could do to keep up. His candle had blown out long ago, but luckily Shouto's stayed lit - otherwise the tunnel would have been black as a grave. The walls were stone, with no distinguishing features; the hallway twisted and turned, and they passed many forks, Shouto never hesitating on which path to take.

Bakugou would never be able to find his way out alone.

"Hang on," Bakugou said. They were long out of ear- and eye-shot of the dressing room mirror, and he could hear no one following them. "Let me catch my breath. You're going way too fucking fast. Where are we? Where are we going?"

"We're in the secret tunnels of the opera house, of course."

"And where are we going?"

Shouto was holding the candle down low and away from himself. Bakugou wondered if he was trying to hide his face. Well, too late for that. "I live here," he said. "I'm taking you to my home."

"Is it necessary to _run _there? Can we go at a normal pace?"

"If they saw you disappear into the mirror, they might have smashed it and followed up," Shouto said. "We should keep moving."

The word _they _reminded Bakugou that he'd heard two voices - Aizawa's and someone else's, a voice that seemed familiar but that he couldn't quite place. It bugged him, that familiarity without context. _This one? You have the key? _He ran the sentences through his mind, trying to figure out how he knew that voice, but it was no good. But he knew it would irk him, that almost-knowing.

"Who was the man with Aizawa?" Bakugou said. "I feel like I know his voice, but-"

"It's Enji."

_Yes _\- that explained how he knew the voice, but not well enough to recognize it. Enji was a man of few words at rehearsals - he sang more than he spoke, so the half-familiarity made sense. But - "Why is Enji here?!"

"Let's keep moving."

"Shouto, you need to fucking-"

Bakugou grabbed at Shouto's arm to stop him, but it was the arm with the candle; when Shouto jerked out of the way, the flame went out.

"Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck-"

"It's okay," Shouto said. He took Bakugou's hand, his touch cool. "I know where we are. I know the way."

They set off at a walk, which Bakugou was thankful for. Luckily the floor was smooth and relatively flat; the one time there were stairs, Shouto warned him first. Bakugou hated being led by the hand like a child, but he knew that if he tried to make his own way through the darkness he'd have no success; if they got separated, he may very well be lost forever.

Finally the darkness turned to an ashy gray, then a dull orange. Bakugou thought his eyes were playing tricks on him at first, but no, there was light up ahead. They turned a corner and there were candles, dozens of them. And also a boat. And water.

"What the hell? Is this a _lake?"_

"More or less." Shouto gestured for him to get into the boat. "The tunnel's flooded. Unless you'd like to swim, I suggest you get in."

"How the hell did you get a boat in here?"

"I didn't. It predates me."

That didn't exactly give Bakugou confidence about the boat's structural integrity, but it was better than swimming - the water looked murky and disgusting - and he was in absolutely no position to find his way back. He climbed into the boat with a deep sigh. Shouto got in behind him and began to row.

It was actually only about thirty feet of water, and they crossed it in less than a minute. The other side was clearly someone's living space, which explained the lit candles, Bakugou supposed. There was a bed, and clothes and books and food. And a _lot _of spare candles.

"My humble abode," Shouto said quietly, turning away. "Please make yourself at home."

"What exactly am I doing here?"

"It was imperative that neither of us be caught by Enji or Aizawa."

"Yeah, but what am I doing here?" Bakugou took a step towards Shouto, who still didn't turn around to face him. "Why am I at your house or whatever this is? Why didn't you take me back to some tunnel near my bedroom, so I could just hop out and go on like nothing happened?"

"I…" Shouto trailed off.

Bakugou walked around him, so they were finally face to face. Shouto looked at him with what might've been alarm, but didn't move to hide again.

"Yeah?" Bakugou said. "Spit it out."

"I wanted to spend more time with you." Shouto glanced around. "And show you where I live. And maybe resume lessons, down here. No one could hear us - you could be as loud as you wanted."

Maybe Shouto had meant it innocently enough, but Bakugou couldn't help but feel a shiver of fright at those words. If he screamed, no one would hear him; there was no Kirishima to come barreling through the door and save him if things went south. And if he wanted to escape Shouto entirely, he'd never find his way out of the tunnels. "I'd prefer it through my dressing room mirror, thanks."

"It isn't safe to go back now," Shouto said. "They might still be waiting there. You can stay here tonight, and I'll bring you back out tomorrow - through that exit, if it's safe, or a different one."

Bakugou sighed. "No chance you'll take me out tonight? In an hour or two?"

"It's not safe. This way we can pretend you went out for the night and came back without anyone seeing you."

Bakugou didn't see any other way around it. He could be as stubborn as he wanted, but Shouto very clearly held the power in this situation. "Fine."

"Excellent," Shouto said. "You can have my bed for the night, of course. I'll find somewhere else to sleep. Do you want to resume the singing lesson? I think it went well yesterday."

"Listen, Shouto," Bakugou said, "when are you actually going to tell me about yourself?"

Shouto stopped and looked at him intently. One eye was shadowed by the mask, but the other one was a dark steely gray. Bakugou wondered if his hair was a wig - he was pretty sure hair did not grow naturally like that, divided so evenly in two. "I don't think it's necessary," was all Shouto said, before turning away.

"It's a little unfair for you to know so much about me, but for me to not know you at all."

Shouto began busying himself with making the bed, or at least pretending to. It was clearly just an excuse to ignore Bakugou's questions.

"If you want me to trust you, you should tell me a little more about yourself!"

Shouto paused and turned back around. "You know all you need to know, but I'll summarize it for you. I received formal operatic training, as you could probably infer from my voice. However, an incident occurred that left me deformed. That is why I wear this mask." He touched it lightly with his left hand. "It also stops me from going onstage. I am glad I am able to tutor you, so my operatic training isn't entirely wasted."

"And how did you go from all that to living in the tunnels?" Bakugou had a vision of Shouto, post-"incident", being told he could no longer perform in the opera and scurrying off to hide to avoid being kicked out.

"Perhaps I can explain another time."

"No," Bakugou said, stepping towards him. "I think you can explain now."

They were about the same height, but Bakugou was bigger, and, he thought, stronger; he puffed up his chest and stood as close to Shouto as he could without touching him. He _should _have cut an imposing figure, but Shouto did not seem intimidated in the least. His face was expressionless, except for a small smile that tugged on the uncovered corner of his mouth.

"If you want to be like that," Bakugou said, rapidly shifting tacks, "I don't think I'll take any more lessons from you ever again."

Shouto's face fell. "That's disappointing. However, I believe in the end that it will be your loss."

"I could be convinced to change my mind, if-"

"I'm not telling you any more about me," Shouto said. "That's final." He turned away again. "For now, I'm sorry, but you're stuck here for the night. Make yourself comfortable. You can go anywhere within my home, but please don't cross the water. I'm afraid of you getting lost."

"Fuck you," Bakugou said, and stalked off.

The truth was, Bakugou was afraid of getting lost too. Even without being told, he hadn't planned to get back on that boat and make his way out of the lit section of the tunnels; the darkness was so absolute it almost looked like a wall. So Bakugou decided to explore Shouto's weird little nest-house area - looking through the clothes (old costumes?), poring over the very, very old books, and helping himself to some of the food. He was aware that Shouto was watching him out of the corner of his eye almost the entire time, but did his best to ignore it.

"Okay, fine," Bakugou said, after about an hour of being bored out of his skull. "If you want to finish the singing lesson so bad, I guess we can."

Shouto smiled. His happiness at such a simple thing was _almost _infectious, but Bakugou managed to turn it into a scowl instead.

The lesson went well. It was a relief to finally observe Shouto, and do so _openly, _unlike the night before. He really did know his stuff - they practiced for a long time, Bakugou happy he could let loose and sing as loud as he wanted. He figured they had to be beneath the opera house, and wondered where their location lay relative to the rest of the building. It felt almost as if they were in a different building entirely, so disconnected did Bakugou feel from the well-lit, clean, dry world he knew.

The lesson ran long, and abruptly Bakugou's throat began to ache. Shouto noticed right away. "Let's stop now," he said. "It's a good time to call it a night."

"I'm still mad you're making me stay here," Bakugou said, taking a sip of water from a glass Shouto handed him. "Like I want to stay down here in your dingy little shithole. I'll probably bump into a candle and catch on fire."

"At least there's water to put it out."

Bakugou stared at Shouto. He couldn't tell what was a joke and what wasn't - he was too hard to read. "When I go back tomorrow, what am I supposed to tell Aizawa?"

"Well, that depends," Shouto said. "Do you think they saw you stepping into the passageway behind the mirror?"

Bakugou thought back to earlier that evening, trying to replay the sequence in his head. "I'm pretty sure we shut the mirror before they came into the room, but they could've still heard us, or seen us through it."

"Seen us through…?"

"Oh, uh," Bakugou said, and laughed. "Yeah, when it's dark inside the dressing room, the mirror becomes a window. Apparently."

Shouto looked at him, his gaze steely. "What?"

"The first lesson, last night. I could see you. And the night before that. Every time it was dark."

"Oh. Really?" Shouto touched the mask self-consciously, then shrugged. "That would have been good to know, I guess, but it doesn't exactly matter now."

Bakugou wondered what it would take to make this guy actually upset. This lax attitude made him want to push harder, to find out where the line lay. He'd save that for another time, if there was another time.

"I don't actually know if they saw or heard anything," he said, getting back to the question at hand. "But even if they didn't, they obviously suspect me of talking to you, don't they? Why else would they be going to my dressing room at night?"

"Good point." Shouto looked thoughtful. "I guess we'll just have to see what happens."

"See what happens? What if 'what happens' is me getting kicked out of the opera house?"

"You will not be kicked out. I will not allow it."

"You _won't allow it," _Bakugou echoed, laughing humorlessly. "Really? You're a fugitive. You're on the run, spending your life hiding." He gestured to all the stuff around them, the costumes and food and books. "How much of this is actually yours, and how much did you steal?"

Shouto said nothing.

"I'd like to know how much power someone like you has to decide whether I'm kicked out or not."

"I have more power than you think," Shouto said. "More than I can tell you about right now. And if you were kicked out of the opera house, I'd be willing to use it."

"You…" Bakugou shook his head in disbelief. "Look, I know it would be unfair of them, but don't go killing anyone, alright?"

Shouto looked shocked. "What?"

"Isn't that what you meant by 'power'?"

"No…"

"Oh." Bakugou shrugged. "In that case, I have no idea what you're going on about. Anyway, why do you care so much? I know I have talent, but talented opera singers are a dime a dozen in this city, you know? What's so special about me?"

"You are… very important to me," Shouto said, his voice quiet. "Beyond your capacity as a singer, I greatly appreciate what you've done."

"What _have _I done?"

"What you've done for me. I mean… the time we've spent together." Was he _blushing? _Bakugou took a step closer to see. Shouto stepped back in response, giving a half-turn so the masked half of his face was towards Bakugou. "Never mind," he mumbled. "Forget I said anything."

"Are you _scared _of me?"

"No," Shouto said, "not scared, just…" He shrugged.

"Shy?"

Shouto shrugged again.

"Yeah, you're shy, aren't you," Bakugou said. He stepped towards Shouto until Shouto was backed up against a wall, then closed the distance between them. The steel-gray eye stared at him, blank, narrowed. Curious or nervous, perhaps; Bakugou couldn't tell. "It must be weird, living in this place by yourself. Bet you don't see people much."

"Only from afar."

"How long have you been down here?"

"A while," Shouto said. "Months."

"So you're lonely," Bakugou said. "You're lonely, and desperate, and you reached out to me, and when I didn't ignore you, you imprinted on me like a baby duck, is that it?"

"No," Shouto said, brow furrowed. "It's not that." He was mad, Bakugou saw, but his anger was quiet, his voice even softer than before. "It has nothing to do with being desperate."

Then, to his surprise, Shouto stepped towards _him, _and Bakugou took a step back as a reflex.

"If you'd excuse me," Shouto said, "I'm going to sleep. The bed is yours to use. I'll sleep in the boat."

"In the boat?"

"It seems comfortable enough."

He did, in fact, sleep in the boat, and didn't seem to be troubled by the wood against his back, although it was probably better than the stone of the floor would have been. Bakugou wondered if Shouto had chosen that particular sleeping place to prevent him from stealing the boat and running off into the tunnels. It was almost insulting that Shouto would consider him that stupid. It made Bakugou want to steal the paddle and shove the boat away from the edge of the water, just to see if Shouto finally snapped.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Bakugou did not sleep well. The bed was soft enough, but the idea of _where _he was sleeping kept him up for a long time. Then there were the noises - water dripping, the natural creaking made by the building around them, and the faint, distant sound of what might have been little rat feet. None of it was conducive to a good night's sleep.

It seemed like Bakugou had drifted off only moments before he was shaken awake. "It's time to get up," Shouto said. "Eat something, then we'll bring you back to your dressing room. You can join them for rehearsal like normal."

_This is a dumb fucking plan, _Bakugou thought, but, too sleepy to be coherent, he merely nodded. The way back through the tunnels felt shorter than the initial journey had been, and in what seemed like no time at all they were at Bakugou's dressing room mirror. Shouto listened for a moment, then undid the latch and pushed the mirror open. "I won't bother you for a lesson today," he said softly, watching Bakugou step through. "I'll let you get your rest. Perhaps tomorrow you will meet me again in the evening."

Bakugou grunted.

"We can speak later," Shouto said. "Farewell, Bakugou." He pulled the mirror shut behind him and was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

The light coming through the window was pale and gray - it was barely after sunrise, probably an hour or so until rehearsal was to begin. Bakugou sat on his chair and waited. He didn't notice he'd nodded off until he was awoken by commotion all around him - the normal sounds of his fellow opera singers getting ready for rehearsal. Reluctantly, he rose and got ready too.

His roommates looked at him, surprised; after all, it probably appeared to them as if he'd left the opera house. But Bakugou held their gazes, and no one questioned him. Let them assume what they wanted to: he told himself he didn't care what they thought. Kirishima, who was not his roommate, only remarked that he looked a little tired. But Aizawa gave him a piercing, withering look, and Bakugou wondered how much he knew.

When Bakugou got back to his dressing room, he found to his shock that all of his things were gone.

He wondered briefly if Shouto had gotten particularly deluded and had stolen it all away, but the idea had barely entered Bakugou's head when Aizawa tapped him on the shoulder. "Follow me, please," he said, and led Bakugou to another dressing room down the hall. It was identical, except its mirror was on a stand, not attached to the wall.

"Your new dressing room," Aizawa said. "Here is the key." He wasn't the type to apologize for the intrusion, or offer any kind of explanation. It didn't matter; Bakugou had a pretty good guess what it was about.

Bakugou gave him the old key and wondered who exactly would take his previous dressing room. Would it be watched quietly for signs of a visit from Shouto? Sealed off from the outside? Bakugou was not exactly clear about whether Shouto was a runaway, implying they wished for his return, or a pest, to be dealt with brutally and impartially.

Bakugou felt a vague, growing sense of unease. He wished he'd gotten any kind of a say in this, but knew the moment for that had passed. Aizawa had offered him a choice the previous morning and Bakugou had made his decision, and now he was Shouto's ally, not the opera house employees'. He was lucky he hadn't been fired.

_You should be grateful - isn't this what you originally wanted? _part of him asked. And yeah, it had been, _originally, _but now he was intrigued. It was as if he'd caught part of some epic story, but only a glimpse, a snippet, nothing more. It was infuriating not to know the rest.

And, over the next few days, Bakugou had to admit he was a little lonely without Shouto's voice at the mirror. He'd grown accustomed to the attention. Without it, his dressing room seemed so silent.

But within a week he didn't have much time to be lonely: the date of their performance was approaching. Rehearsals got longer and longer, and soon they were in full costume and makeup. After dinner, Bakugou would go back to his bedroom and crash, sleeping almost straight through until morning, when everyone would be woken up to do it again. Even if he'd still had the old dressing room, he would have had no time for private lessons, not with Aizawa running them all ragged.

On the eve of opening night, it all came to a head. After rehearsal, when normally Bakugou would be running off to dinner, Aizawa pulled him aside. He looked quite as irritated as Bakugou himself felt at that moment. "Bakugou, I need to speak to you."

"I'm hungry," Bakugou said. It felt like lunch, which was always a rushed affair the week before a performance, had happened years ago. "Let's keep it quick."

Aizawa looked at him through those unreadable dark eyes. "If you cooperate, it will be quicker. Follow me."

Bakugou couldn't shake the dread that settled over him, which made him want to drag his feet or run away entirely. When they reached Aizawa's office, Bakugou half expected to see Shouto, perhaps in handcuffs, or a policeman, waiting to arrest him. Instead, there sat Enji.

He was absolutely enormous, a mountain of a man. He seemed to take up the entire room. Bakugou knew he had incredible stage presence, but to be in such a small room with him made Bakugou feel tiny, like a very young child.

Enji stared at Bakugou through narrowed eyes. "This is the kid, huh?"

"Yes, this is Bakugou," Aizawa said. It seemed unfair that Bakugou should be so very aware of who Enji was, yet Enji couldn't even put a face to his name. But that was what being a star was all about, wasn't it? "He's the one I was telling you about."

"Seems like a pretty ordinary looking kid," Enji said. His arms were crossed, his legs spread. His posture seemed to say, _I don't want to be here, and I want everyone to know it. _"Don't really see what the fuss is about."

Bakugou gathered his courage to ask, "What's going on?"

"You tell me," Enji said, leering.

"Bakugou," Aizawa said, "could you please tell us about the interactions you had with Shouto?"

Bakugou blinked. The question was far more direct than any Aizawa had asked him before. They knew, although exactly _how much _they knew still wasn't clear. Bakugou figured it was safe to assume they knew about the tunnel in his old dressing room, so he said, "He started talking to me from behind my mirror one day."

"What did he say to you?" Aizawa asked.

"He - he told me he wanted to give me singing lessons."

Enji let out a snort and turned away, shaking his head as if in disbelief.

"About how many times did you two interact?" Aizawa asked.

"Five? Six?" Bakugou tried to recall precisely, but, hungry and feeling very put on the spot, he couldn't be sure. "Something like that."

"How much information did he tell you about himself?" Aizawa glanced at Enji.

"Not much. He didn't give me his name until, like, the fourth time we even talked. He seemed to know everything about me. But he did say he got operatic training, until some kind of - something - left him deformed, so he couldn't be an opera singer."

Enji let out a low, humorless laugh, but said nothing.

"Did you see his face?" Aizawa asked, ignoring Enji.

"I. Uh, yeah," Bakugou said. "Half of it. He was wearing a mask."

"Did you venture into the tunnels with him?"

Bakugou hesitated, trying not to look at Enji's vicious leer. But Aizawa, though stony-faced, was no less frightening. "I remind you that we have no contract with you, Bakugou" he said bluntly. "Whether we ask you back for future shows is entirely up in the air."

"Yeah, yeah," Bakugou said. He took a deep breath. "Yeah. I did. One time."

Aizawa nodded. He did not look surprised; almost certainly they'd known that already, then. "Did he lead you to where he's living?"

"Look," Bakugou said, "I get that he's not supposed to be living here, but if you find him, what are you going to do? Are you going to kill him?"

Enji laughed again. Bakugou felt himself grow angry; everything he did seemed to be amusing to the old man, who didn't feel the need to offer any explanation. Bakugou wondered why he was even there, since apparently he couldn't deign himself to actually _explain _anything.

"No, we won't kill him," Aizawa said, looking again to Enji, as if for support. "We have no intention of hurting him at all, don't worry."

Bakugou did not know whether to trust them or not, but knew he was utterly at their mercy. He _needed _this job, and didn't want this to be the thing that threw him out onto the streets. "He did take me to his 'home' or whatever you wanna call it," Bakugou said. "Where he's sleeping."

"Would you be able to show-"

"No," Bakugou said. "Even if I wanted to. Look, there are a _lot _of tunnels, I learned that much. He only took me there once, and the candle blew out halfway through the trip, but he led us the rest of the way blind. And going back I was half asleep."

"Is there anything else you can tell us about the location, at least?" Aizawa asked. "Any distinguishing features? Anything at all?"

Bakugou thought of the flooded underground portion, of the boat, and simply said, "No."

"And have you had any contact with him since you switched dressing rooms?"

"No."

"I see," Aizawa said, shifting. He glanced at Enji. "Thank you for your candor, Bakugou."

"I think it's best just to be frank with him," Enji said suddenly, startling them both. "I think the truth will take away any sense of mystery. Your name's Bakugou, right?"

Bakugou nodded. It was the first time Enji had addressed him directly, and, for all his annoyance, he felt starstruck.

"It seems that Shouto's grown quite attached to you," Enji said. "Ever since your dressing room was moved, he's been sending Aizawa and I letters._Threatening _letters."

Bakugou felt his throat tighten.

"It seems he wants access to you very badly. 'Opening night is very important to you, is it not? It would be a shame if something were to happen to the show's star. This is your final warning.'"

"I don't have anything to do with that," Bakugou said, feeling sick. "I didn't ask him to write that. I don't _want _him to write that sort of thing! I don't want the show to fail!"

"I understand," Aizawa said, and Bakugou got the sense that his teacher, at least, believed his words. "But he hasn't been caught, and with opening day tomorrow… we find it wiser to give in to his demands for the moment, for the sake of the show."

"You'll get your old dressing room back," Enji said. "But, Bakugou. Listen to me." His eyes, Bakugou noticed, were sea-green, and very, very cold. "This is only temporary, because Shouto _will _be caught. You can tell him that, too, if he speaks to you. The tunnels are big, but they are only so big. We will find him eventually, and the further he flees, the worse it will be for him."

"You'll arrest him?" Bakugou asked. "For what? Trespassing? Stealing food?" _Well, and threatening the opera house, _Bakugou thought, but he didn't say that aloud.

"Arrest him?" Enji echoed. "No, he'll be working here again."

Bakugou stared at him, too surprised to speak.

Enji held up his hand, index finger touching thumb in an "O" shape. "His so-called 'deformity' is about this large," he said. "It's an excuse. Of course he should be back on stage. He's been training for it his entire life. The year he's spent hiding in the tunnels is a laughable act of teenage rebellion. Shouto longs to be onstage again, but feels too foolish to give himself up willingly. It's easy enough to see that. Even after all this time, he's never once left the opera house." Enji looked at Bakugou directly again. "You seem surprised. Did he forget to mention he's my son?"

"Oh," Bakugou said. It was all he _could _say. At first he thought to question or challenge Enji, but the revelation made a certain kind of sense. Shouto hated Enji, Enji laughed at and mocked Shouto, but neither one wanted to kill the other. It had never occurred to Bakugou that they might be looking for Shouto not to drive him out once and for all, but to get him _back._

"Tell him that if he's sick of being chased, of living underground like a worm, there's no shame in just coming back out," Enji continued. "You tell him that when you see him, Bakugou."

"Alright," Bakugou said. His hands were shaking, although he didn't know if it was hunger or nerves. "I will."

"That's all," Aizawa said abruptly, getting to his feet. "Bakugou, here's your key. Please go straight to your old changing room. You'll find your possessions have already been transferred."

"What the hell?" Bakugou said, jumping up in surprise. "I don't get any say over it?"

Aizawa looked at him levelly. "Do you wish to protest this decision?"

Bakugou hesitated. He didn't want to _protest, _per se, but the abruptness of it irked him. The decision had been entirely taken out of his hands.

"No," he said at last. His voice sounded almost meek, and that pissed him off. As he left the room, the two men's stares boring holes into his back, Bakugou knew he probably seemed like a kicked puppy with its tail tucked between its legs. Pathetic.

In his dressing room, Bakugou called out for Shouto, but there was no response. Bakugou wondered if it was already too late, if whatever threat Shouto had made would come to pass despite Aizawa's attempts at preventing it. Hopefully Bakugou wouldn't be blamed? He'd done what they'd asked him, answered all their questions like a good boy. He felt hot with shame.

The next day, Bakugou reached his dressing room and began to prepare for the performance when he heard a familiar voice, warm and pleased. "Bakugou, you're back."

"Yeah, I am," he said, not pausing in his preparations. Another day he might've been shy about being nearly naked in front of Shouto, but he was too strapped for time. He didn't have the luxury of embarrassment, not on opening night. "You know that going away wasn't my plan, right? They made me switch rooms."

"Oh yes, I know. I don't know what they were attempting to accomplish except perhaps just to anger me. But obviously they're more afraid of me than I am of them."

Enji's words rang through Bakugou's head. _Did he forget to mention he's my son? _But Bakugou said nothing about that, not yet. He was forming a plan, but for now he had to keep his cards close to his chest.

"Can't really talk now," Bakugou said, putting the finishing touches on his costume. "We can talk more after the show."

"Break a leg, Bakugou," Shouto said. "I'll be watching. But for now, I have to go."

"Alright. See you then, I guess?" But there was no response; as usual, Shouto had left immediately after finishing his sentence.

The show went smoothly, which Bakugou was very glad about. Eaten up with nerves, he'd been half waiting for something bad to happen, whether it was caused by Shouto or not. But the lack of issues meant Bakugou got ample time to think of his plan, and the more he ran it over in his mind, the more sure of it he was. He walked offstage after curtain call feeling bone-tired but confident.

"Good work," Shouto said, as soon as Bakugou walked in.

"Thanks." He grinned. "You were watching?"

"Yes, I enjoy watching the shows."

"You don't need to hide in there," Bakugou said. "I've already seen you. What's the point?"

"You want me to come out?"

"Why not?" Bakugou smiled towards the mirror. "It was nice, seeing you. Being _with _you, physically, with nothing between us."

The mirror opened, noiseless on its hinges, and Shouto peered out. He was once again dressed in what appeared to be a costume - a black tuxedo, complete with bowtie - with a white mask covering half of his face. The idea of him walking through the damp tunnels and rowing the boat while wearing this getup was ridiculous.

With Shouto looking out from behind the mirror, Bakugou felt like he was luring a wild animal out of its cave. "Come here," he said, holding out his arms, and the enthusiasm with which Shouto did as he said gave Bakugou a pang of guilt. Shouto embraced him - the first time they'd touched other than the desperate, thoughtless hand-holding in the dark tunnels.

Shouto smelled like mildew, like clothes washed infrequently, like sweat and perfume sprayed a little too strongly, as if to cover up an odor. He clung to Bakugou with single-minded affection, burying his face in the crook of Bakugou's neck; this might have been the first time in ages he'd touched another human being like this, and Bakugou let him linger for a long time, just holding him.

As they finally split apart, Bakugou turned them around in a half-circle, so their positions were reversed. He stepped backwards, until he stood in front of the mirror, and watched Shouto's expression shift rapidly, from one of peace to something darker, angrier.

"Bakugou, you-"

"Let me talk," Bakugou said. He was careful not to actually back up against the mirror; he didn't know if it would latch and lock automatically when it closed.

Shouto stared. Waited, venomously, seething.

"You should go back on _your _terms, not theirs," Bakugou said. His throat was dry, but he didn't dare drink, because his pitcher of water was across the room - and he knew that in that time Shouto would slip away again. "You've made your point, you know? They probably thought you running off was just a whim at first. You've shown them you're serious. _You _have the power in this scenario. But if they catch you - _when _they catch you - they'll have the power instead, and you'll have to just do what they say."

"What are you suggesting?"

"Negotiate," Bakugou said. "I don't know what made you run off, of course, but maybe they'll be so happy to have you back they'll be willing to do whatever you ask."

"What do you know about me?" Shouto said, bristling. "What gives you the right to tell me what to do?"

"What gives _you _the right to spy on me in my dressing room? And dictate where it should be? - Look, Shouto, whatever strange friendship or relationship or whatever it is we have, or that you want us to have, it will never work like this. But if you come out, if you join me in the opera, we can get to know one another on equal footing. Maybe - maybe it'll work."

Shouto raised a hand to touch his mask. "But I can't, I'm defor-"

"That isn't what your father said."

Shouto's mouth snapped shut.

"They want you back. Enji, Aizawa, the opera in general, they'd take you back."

"Did they tell you that?"

"Yes?"

"And you believed them?"

"I don't know," Bakugou said, frustrated. "I guess I did. What would they gain by lying? Look," he said, tired and thirsty and annoyed out of his skull, "I can let you go, it doesn't need to be right now or anything, but just think about it, will you?"

"I'll do it," Shouto said suddenly.

"What?"

"Bring my father here. And Aizawa, because I trust him more," Shouto said, stepping towards Bakugou. "I'll speak with them through the mirror. And you should come back, too, of course."

It took Bakugou a long moment to even parse the words, so unexpected was Shouto's change of heart. After a moment he let out a laugh, shaky and relieved. "Well. Okay." He crossed the room and took a deep drink of water. Then a thought occurred to him. "You… you aren't playing a trick on me, are you? When I bring them back, are you really going to still be here?"

"I'll be here," Shouto said. "Now go."

His hands were shaking as he knocked on Enji's door. He was still in his costume, he realized. Enji opened the door himself and gazed at Bakugou as one might gaze at an insect crawling across the floor. "Can I help you?"

"Shouto wants to talk with you," Bakugou said.

The change was immediate; Enji's eyes widened almost comically, and he took a step back in surprise. "Shouto wants-"

"And with Aizawa too. Do you know where he is?"

So, incredibly, Enji led him to Aizawa, and the three of them were like a strange little parade as they headed back to Bakugou's dressing room.

When they got back there, Bakugou positioned himself between them and the mirror. He felt protective, he realized: even if the latch was locked, Enji could smash through the mirror without any effort. If the discussion didn't go well, Bakugou wanted to give Shouto an out. He felt he owed him that much, at least, considering all this had been his idea.

"Is this a prank?" Enji said, after a long moment. "Is Shouto really here?"

"Hello, Father," Shouto said, speaking from behind the mirror. "Do you recognize my voice, or have you gone senile since we last spoke?"

Bakugou thought he saw Aizawa stifle a laugh, but he couldn't be sure.

"Are you ready to end this ridiculous farce?" Enji asked, pointedly ignoring Shouto's jab.

"Yes," Shouto said, "with conditions."

"Conditions!" Enji echoed. He seemed too large for the small dressing room, and seemed to thrum with angry energy, like a bull ready to charge. "You are in no position to make demands."

"What are your conditions?" Aizawa asked, voice low, almost lazy sounding. Bakugou looked at him sharply, unsure who, exactly, wielded the power here. None of them seemed to have it, and all seemed to be scrabbling for it desperately - except for Bakugou himself, who was just in the middle, an observer.

"One: If you let me, I will rejoin the opera as a performer."

"Of course they will _let _you," Enji said, scoffing, then sneaking a glance at Aizawa. "Why would-"

"Excuse me," Shouto said. His voice, though quiet, cut through Enji's words, shutting him up. "I'm not done speaking. I will rejoin the opera as a performer, and be under the direction of Aizawa. _Not you. _I will not submit to any private lessons from you any more."

There was something behind this demand that Bakugou could not even begin to comprehend, although to tell the truth he didn't really want to. "Fine," Enji said. "Is that all?"

"No, of course not. Why would I have started numbering if I only had one condition? Condition two: Bakugou is not to be punished for his role in… this."

"He wasn't going to be," Aizawa said dryly. "So that's no issue."

"Good," Shouto said. "Three: I want my own room."

The whole idea of _that _as a condition - that being forced to share a room was awful enough to send Shouto back into the tunnels - was ridiculous and fussy and so very fitting with this odd person Bakugou was only beginning to get to know. He wanted to be treated like any other member of the opera, but he also wanted his own room? It was ridiculous. Despite the tenseness of the situation, Bakugou laughed.

The others turned to look at him, and Bakugou realized they were not laughing - they seemed confused as to why he was. "That's fine," Aizawa said, turning back after a moment to look blankly at the mirror again. "It will probably be small, but that can be arranged."

"That's fine," Shouto said. "If those three conditions can be met, I'd - I'd be willing to come out and rejoin the opera."

Aizawa looked at Enji, who was staring at the mirror, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. "Come out, Shouto," Enji said, "if it's truly what you intend."

"I want you to promise. Both of you promise."

Legally, promising meant nothing. But Shouto must have known, or assumed, or _hoped _that Enji had some kind of honor - that he wouldn't go back on his word. "I promise," he said, reluctant. Aizawa said the same, and then Bakugou heard the latch click open.

There was no teary reunion between father and son. Bakugou hadn't expected there to be, of course. Shouto looked up at Enji warily, and Enji laughed and said, "What's on your _face?"_

"I didn't want to show my scar."

"You look ridiculous." Enji took a step towards Shouto, who stepped back, half hiding behind Bakugou.

"I want to leave it on for now."

"You look - whose clothes are those? Where did you find those things?"

"I'll have someone prepare a bedroom for you, Shouto," Aizawa said. "Enji, please come with me."

Enji did not look happy to be herded away, but followed obediently. When they were out of the room, Shouto locked the dressing room door behind them.

"I should probably thank you," he said to Bakugou.

"I'm still in my costume," Bakugou said, looking down at himself. "God. I'm so tired." He got another drink of water. It had to be close to midnight; he felt weary down to his bones.

"Thank you," Shouto said.

Bakugou looked up at him. "You don't actually - I mean, you're welcome. I guess."

They stared at each other for a long moment, until Bakugou couldn't stand it any longer. "Turn around," he said. "I'm going to change."

Shouto made a noise of protest, but turned around anyways. Bakugou didn't take his eyes off him, not entirely trusting Shouto not to peek.

After he changed they stood in awkward silence for a few minutes, until Aizawa knocked on the door and took Shouto away. Bakugou wondered how it would feel, sleeping in a bed in your own room after however many months spent alone in the damp tunnels. Bakugou had a feeling Shouto would sleep well that night.

And Bakugou slept well, too. There was a lot to mull over, but he was too tired to stay awake for very long once he'd settled into his own bed. Today's had only been the first performance - there would be at least one performance, and sometimes two, every day for the next several weeks. Bakugou already felt burned out. When he awoke the next morning, he barely felt as if he'd been asleep at all.

The day passed quickly. Bakugou wondered where Shouto was, if he was enjoying his newfound freedom to walk the opera house openly or whether he already regretted the decision he'd made. But, swept up in preparations for that evening's show, Bakugou had no time to seek him out.

The show, again, went smoothly. Enji may or may not have been staring at Bakugou when they both happened to be backstage, but Bakugou tried not to focus on that. It was a good thing he didn't have a larger role; he felt sluggish and ever so slightly _off. _His thoughts kept returning to Shouto, hoping Enji and Aizawa hadn't double-crossed him somehow. Hoping he didn't already regret his decision.

His dressing room mirror was silent, but Bakugou had expected that. Still, it felt a little lonely. He changed quickly and stepped outside, then stopped in the doorway.

Shouto was waiting in the hallway outside. He wore an odd combination of his mask and normal clothes, and gave Bakugou a nod when their eyes met. "You performed well."

"You were watching?"

"Yes. I got to sit in the audience this time."

"Oh, that's good, I guess."

There was a silence that stretched a little too long. Bakugou had begun to wonder if Shouto had any other purpose in coming here when at last he spoke again. "Will you come with me?" he said, turning around and heading off without bothering to wait for the reply.

"Wait up - I didn't actually say I would," Bakugou said, at his heels. "Where are we going?"

"I want to show you my room."

It was nearby - an old dressing room that had been repurposed, perhaps. It was as small as Aizawa had hinted at, most of its floor space taken up by beds, of which it had two.

Bakugou stopped in the doorway, peering in. One of the beds was messy and unmade, the other neat. "What…"

Shouto sat down atop the messy bed. "You stay in a shared room, don't you?"

"Yeah…"

He looked off to the side, not quite meeting Bakugou's eyes. "Would you rather sleep here?"

Bakugou looked at him closely and realized he was nervous. At the thought of being rejected? At living in the opera house, of reentering a life he'd left so long ago? Bakugou knew he could ask those questions directly, but he'd get some infuriating non-answer. Or… or he could learn them as he'd learned everything else about Shouto - slowly, over time. If nothing else, being with Shouto would make him patient.

"Yeah, okay," Bakugou said. "Let me get my stuff."

Shouto smiled - a small smile by most people's standards, but the largest Bakugou could remember ever seeing on his face. "Please return soon."

* * *

They should have gone straight to bed, but instead the two of them sat up in bed not doing much of anything, just wasting the candles. Bakugou looked at Shouto, who looked back at him, face inscrutable. He thought of what Enji had said about Shouto's deformity or scar or whatever it was. "Shouto," Bakugou said, "can I see what's under your mask?"

He expected Shouto to shy away, to flinch, to deflect; but to Bakugou's utter surprise he pried the mask off in one motion and set it aside.

Yes, there was a scar there, just under his left eye - which to Bakugou's surprise was a different color than his right one, a blue-green nearly identical to Enji's. The scar began under his cheekbone and traveled up to his forehead, where the top of it was obscured by hair. It was noticeable, the skin a shiny dark pink in contrast to his normal pale shade, but it was not a _deformity, _it was not horrifying or nauseating. It certainly would not prevent him from being onstage - he could easily cover it with makeup, if he needed to cover it at all.

Enji was right: it had been an excuse. Shouto hadn't _needed _to hide it. But Bakugou didn't know enough about him to understand why.

With a start he realized his hand was between them, reaching out almost against his will towards Shouto's face. As soon as he became aware, he jerked it back.

"You can touch it," Shouto said, leaning in towards Bakugou.

So Bakugou did, lightly, with fingertips only. The skin felt a little different there than the rest of his face, Bakugou realized. He skimmed his fingers down, past the scar to cheek, then jaw, then chin. Then he pulled his hand away.

"Bakugou," Shouto said, voice soft, breathy.

"I, uh," Bakugou began, no idea where he was going with that sentence. His hand felt hot. How had Shouto gotten injured, anyways? It almost resembled a birthmark, but he'd phrased it like it was an event that had occurred to him in the past. An accident?

"Bakugou," Shouto said again, his voice firmer this time, "I'm very glad to be here with you."

He held Bakugou's eyes, his gaze almost too piercing and direct; Bakugou wanted to look down, but felt trapped, a fly in a web. He swallowed, his face burning. Something about the way Shouto had pronounced the words gave them a certain weight, as if he were very near to confessing something much deeper.

"You'll probably rejoin the opera house after this show's done, right?" Bakugou said.

"Yes, I think so." Shouto paused. "You know, I would still love to give you private lessons sometime."

"What?" Bakugou had been under the impression that his insistent offer had had more to do with Shouto longing for the stage and living vicariously through him, or perhaps using him as a pawn against his father. But that Shouto would still want to teach him, even though he could be onstage soon himself, didn't really make sense. "Why?"

"To spend more time with you," Shouto said. "As a favor to you. To help your career. You have talent, after all. Perhaps as much as me."

_"Perhaps _as much _\- _?!"

"And I want to do whatever I can to help you," Shouto went on, ignoring his interjection. "I want to be everything to you." He paused. "Was that a strange thing to say?"

"Yes."

"Oh, okay."

Bakugou looked at Shouto: he was beautiful, even (especially?) with the scar, which made his left eye seem very blue. He met Bakugou's gaze and held it, and Bakugou felt a shiver go through him. He had no idea how deep Shouto's feelings for him went; Bakugou felt as if he'd barely skimmed the surface so far. It was frightening, in a way: he'd never been the focus of this kind of adoration before. He felt almost tipsy from it.

"Was it true?" Bakugou asked.

"Oh, yes," Shouto said. "Absolutely."

Bakugou reached out and took his hand. Shouto's skin was cool to the touch and very pale. That figured; it had been _how _long since he'd been out in the sun?

"I like you too, I guess," Bakugou said. "Anyway, I'm glad you're not in the tunnels anymore. And it will be-" _Fun _was the wrong word, perhaps. "It'll be _interesting _to be in the opera with you."

Shouto's smile was broader now, freer. Perhaps the mask had been restricting it. "I agree," he said. "I'm looking forward to it."

Then he threw his arms around Bakugou. It was like the hug they'd shared the day before, but this time under no false pretenses; Bakugou didn't feel the same stab of guilt as he'd felt then. He relaxed into Shouto's hold, even put his own arms around Shouto in turn. Shouto let out a deep, shuddering sigh.

Bakugou felt small, faced with feelings like this. Shouto had watched him for so long, _wanted _him for so long - Bakugou shivered thinking of it. And he'd known Shouto for weeks only, could count on one hand the days they'd spent in each other's company.

But this? This was a good start. To be on equal footing meant something could actually begin. Bakugou let Shouto hold on for as long as he wanted - it was a long hug - and then stretched his arms out, yawning.

"Excuse me," Shouto said. "I'm probably keeping you from sleeping."

"Yeah, I'm tired," Bakugou said. "Long day. And another performance tomorrow." Shouto knew this, of course - he probably knew the workings of the opera house as acutely as Bakugou did, if not more so. _What was it like, _Bakugou wondered, _living amongst us, but separate? How did it feel to have that kind of existence?_

"Of course," Shouto said. "Please don't let me keep you up."

"Tomorrow," Bakugou said, "let's talk more. I have a lot of questions for you."

"You do?"

"Duh," Bakugou said, and though his tone was harsh, Shouto didn't seem to mind; his smile hadn't faded - it had grown, if anything.

"Goodnight, Bakugou," he said, and blew out the candles.

Bakugou stared blankly up at the ceiling, feeling too awake with nerves and excitement to sleep at all; but he could hear the soft, even sound of Shouto's breathing, and listened to that until its rhythm lulled him, little by little, off to sleep.


End file.
